Anchor
by AshCarroll aka ShadowDiva
Summary: Postep to You Are Here. She'd dealt with him drunk, and she'd dealt with him angry, but depressed? This was uncharted territory. [RayNeela]


_Notes: The idea for this has been rolling around in my head since I first read the spoilers for "You Are Here". I wanted to wait until I watched the episode to write it, though. Picks up several hours after Ray's final scene in the episode._

_Rating: FRT (Fan Rated suitable for Teens and over)_

_Content Warning: Nothing worse than what was in the actual episode; however the episode did include mentions of rape involving an underage boy._

_Spoilers: Everything so far is fair game, but specific spoilers for "You Are Here" (11.20)_

_Disclaimer: ER and its characters are the property of Michael Crichton, John Wells, Amblin Entertainment and Constant C Productions. No infringement intended, please don't sue, yadda yadda yadda. Italicized dialogue comes directly from episodes 11.20 and 11.08. I don't own it, either.

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**Anchor**

**© 2005, By: Ash Carroll (a.k.a. ShadowDiva)**

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The phone rang, waking her with a jolt. Fumbling for the receiver in the dark, she finally brought it to her ear. "'Lo."

"Hey, Dr. Neela."

She frowned. "Who's this?"

"Uh...Bret. Sorry I woke you."

She wanted to tell him to piss off so she could go back to sleep, but something niggled at the back of her mind, trapped in the fog. The band rarely used the apartment line these days; if Bret was calling, especially this late, there had to be a good reason.

At least there'd better be.

She sighed. "It's all right. What's wrong?"

"Um, nothing." He paused a beat, not sounding at all convinced. "I hope. It's just, uh, Ray was supposed to meet us here in Evanston for a gig and he never showed; didn't even call. We called the hospital and the guy at the desk told us he said he'd be here, but he's not."

Evanston gig...

Hadn't he mentioned it when he'd signed out to her earlier? And what had he been doing back at the hospital? He must've gone back after she'd left. But why?

"Is he there with you?"

She sat up, the fog lifting immediately.

She knew he wasn't. He hadn't been before she'd fallen asleep, and the apartment was far too quiet for him to have snuck in after. No puttering in the kitchen for a late night snack, no tripping over the drum set on his way to his room, no MTV blaring from the television...

No Ray.

"-there?"

She realized that Bret was still talking. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if he was there."

She shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "No. Did you try the hospital again? Maybe he got caught up."

"They said he left hours ago."

"What about his cell?"

"Got his voicemail. Left him a bunch of messages, but he never called back."

"I don't know, Bret. I haven't heard from him, either."

"Will you call us if you do?"

"Yeah. Let me get something to write your number down."

She flipped on the lamp, squinting as her eyes protested. Grabbing a pen and a scrap of paper, she told him to go ahead and scribbled down the number.

"Thanks."

"Sure. Hey, Bret?" She hesitated a beat. "Will you call me back if you hear anything?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

Placing the receiver back into its cradle, she tunneled both hands halfway through her hair, fisting them in the dark strands with a sigh. Her stomach flip-flopped and she took a deep calming breath, telling herself that it was nothing; he'd probably just gotten sidetracked and forgotten to call.

But even as the thought entered her mind she dismissed it; she knew better.

This wasn't like Ray at all; he would never just not show up for a gig. He would've called, left a message with Jerry for the band, _something_. No, she decided, something was definitely wrong, and there was no way she'd be able to get back to sleep until she knew what it was. So, pulling herself out of bed with a sigh, she shuffled out to the living room and sat down on the couch to wait.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

On the bar beside him, a small dish of lime wedges sat untouched and a tower of empty shot glasses was building. He downed the last of his tequila and signaled the bartender for another round.

Ike shook his head. "You've had enough."

"Nope, not drunk yet."

"And you aren't gonna be; I'm cutting you off. Look, we all got our demons. You can drown'em tonight, but I guarantee they'll be staring you in the face tomorrow. Only way to fight'em is to face'em."

And that was exactly what he was afraid of.

Facing the demons meant seeing himself not as the person he wanted others to see, but as the person they _saw_. Not Ray Barnett, the easy-going rock'n roll doc with a different groupie to warm his bed every night - but Ray Barnett, the irresponsible treat'em and street'em doc who'll cut any corner necessary to get to his gig on time.

The worst thing was, he really thought he'd done the right thing tonight by admitting Eugene, that he'd finally done something to prove himself after the whole thing with Arlo. Yet, Lewis' opinion of him hadn't changed at all.

And he wondered, as he paid for his drinks and left the bar, if it ever would.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

She stared blankly at the television - as she had for the past three hours - the channels clicking mindlessly by. Just when she thought she'd go mad from the waiting, the distinct sound of a key in the lock jolted her back to reality.

In a matter of seconds, she was off the couch, reaching the door just as it swung open to admit him. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Where the bloody hell have you been?"

Depositing his guitar case on the floor by the couch, he ignored her as he brushed past - the smell of liquor pouring off him.

"You're drunk."

"No, but I wanna be."

She looked at him. "You never answered my question."

His tone was harsh. "If I wanted to live with my mother, I'd have moved back to Philly."

"You know what, I normally wouldn't give a rat's arse, except that your band called and woke me up because you never showed for your gig. I spent the last three hours watching bad infomercials and worrying whether you'd ended up dead in a ditch somewhere so you can come home and insult me? Piss off, Ray. It's three in the bloody morning, I've had exactly two hours' sleep, and I'm in no mood to deal with your shit. I'm going back to bed."

Arms folded over her chest, she stalked toward her bedroom. She'd almost made it to the doorway when he finally answered.

"I was at the hospital...with Eugene. I admitted him."

She snorted. "You? The Dispo Doc? Treat'em and Street'em Barnett? Sure you did. If you're going to lie, the least you could do is be creative about it."

Hurt flashed through his eyes for a brief instant, and she realized belatedly that he'd been telling the truth.

"I'm sor-"

His shot her an icy glare. "No. Just save it, okay? I'm so fucking sick of trying to prove myself to people. Nothing I ever do is good enough. Lewis...you. I'm still a fuck-up in your eyes. Always will be." A bitter laugh escaped him. "And you know what? I'm done."

"Ray-"

His bedroom door slammed shut with enough force to shake the frame, and she winced in response as the sound echoed through the silent apartment.

_Bloody brilliant, that was, Rasgotra. You and your fabulous people skills have done it again._

She sighed heavily, resisting the urge to bang her head against a wall in frustration. "Dammit."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Kicking off his shoes, he climbed onto his bed and brought his knees up to his chest. Neela's words from a few months ago kept running through his head.

_"Screw your gig, medicine isn't a day job!"_

Now Lewis' overlapped them.

_"You know what, you wanna be a rock star, that's cool, go for it. But play weddings and bar mitzvahs to make ends meet, because medicine is not a hobby or another way to pay the bills, or Plan B in case you don't sell a million records. It's what you wanna do, or not."_

He sighed.

What he wanted to do.

The truth was, he didn't even know anymore. They didn't think he was cut out for medicine, and maybe they were right. He wasn't even sure what made him choose it.

And maybe that meant he shouldn't be doing it at all.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Cursing her inability to hold her sharp tongue, Neela tunneled a hand through her hair and sighed. She'd really made a mess of things, and she felt terrible. As roommates went, he really wasn't so bad.

Yes, he was sloppy.

And loud.

And his bandmates drove her mad.

But he never complained when her Punjabi cooking smelled up the place, or she left the kitchen window open in the snow - or she didn't shovel the front stairs. He'd stepped up and offered his vacant room to her when Abby kicked her out, and he'd never held the fact that she'd torn him a new one over Arlo against her.

As doctors went, he still had a lot to learn - but then, so did she. She spent so much time nitpicking all of the things he did wrong, that she never gave him credit for the things he did right. He'd gone to Duluth Street with her to check on the Davis children, even though they weren't his patients - and he had a terrific beside manner when it came to treating children. Her first day back in the ER, he'd tried to help her out with Pratt and ease her conscience about her runaway leukemia patient. He'd never made a big deal over any of her mistakes. He'd supported her, and she'd torn him down.

But she could build him back up.

Wringing her hands, she approached his bedroom door and took a deep breath, rapping her knuckles on the surface. She waited, but got no response. She tried again, but again he ignored her.

"Open the door, Ray. Please?" She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said those things to you." Another sigh. "I'd much rather be saying this to your face. Can you _please_ open the door? Ra-"

The door swung open and she watched as he walked back to the bed and sat down, facing the window.

Neela entered and approached the other side of the bed with tentative movements. Bending her left leg in front of her, she sat half Indian-style, the toes of her other foot just touching the floor. Silence filled the room as she stared at his back, trying to think of something else to say.

Funny how she thought it'd be _easier_ to talk to him in here.

After several long moments, he broke the silence, voice oddly subdued. "Is that really how you see me?"

She hesitated. "Ray..."

He turned his head, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Don't be diplomatic, okay, just tell me the truth."

Her hands suddenly became interesting. "Sometimes. Well, most of the time." He turned, facing the window again, dropping his head into his hands as she stared at his back. "But you surprise me sometimes, too."

Another stretch of silence hung between them until she couldn't stand it anymore and her curiosity got the better of her.

"What happened with Eugene?"

Ray lifted his head and sighed. "I found him outside an electronics store on my way to my gig. Said he couldn't go home because his mom's boyfriend was there."

He punched the mattress and she jumped, startled at his venom.

"Bastard's been raping him." He turned back to look at her again. "He's _fourteen_, Neela; he's a good kid."

"I know."

Another long silence, then a sigh. "Pratt gave me a hard time for admitting him; then I caught hell from Lewis." He gave a bitter laugh. "Funny thing is? I actually felt like I did the right thing."

She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. When he didn't flinch, she relaxed, letting her fingers follow its natural curve. "You did."

"Lewis doesn't think I'm cut out for medicine, neither do you. And maybe you guys are right."

She shifted across the bed until she was sitting next to him, hand still resting on his shoulder. "I don't think that."

"Lewis does."

"Lewis is just pissed off because Carter got tenure over her. She's taking it out on everyone else because she can."

"But maybe she's right. I mean, I don't even know what made me choose it."

"Maybe it chose you." He shot her a dubious glance. "Okay, you dispo patients faster than everyone else, but you know how to connect with people, and I've _seen_ you run a trauma."

He sighed. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better, Neela; I'm a big boy, I can take it."

She cuffed his shoulder in exasperation. "You dolt!" She sighed. "Look at me."

He made no move to comply. Putting a hand on his face, she gently turned his head toward her.

"You came with me to check on the Davis kids, and they weren't even your patients. You skipped a gig to stay with Eugene. You delayed your flight to console Maddie at Christmas..." She looked him in the eye, gaze unflinching. "Lewis is _wrong_ about you."

He looked hopeful. "You think?"

A soft smile curved her lips. "I know." The smile dissolved into a frown. "And I'm sorry I'm always too busy nitpicking everything you do to tell you so."

"Yeah, but I deserve it." He shot her a ghost of a smile. "Most of the time." A moment later, the smile was gone and his expression was completely serious. "Don't stop, okay? I need you to nitpick, and I need you to call me out on stuff. Because I don't wanna be the Dispo Doc anymore."

Neela shot him a grin. "Oh, you don't worry about that."

His smile returned. "Try not to have _too_ much fun, okay?"

She snapped her fingers. "Damn."

Another stretch of silence filled the room, companionable rather than tense. Ray finally shot her a quizzical glance.

"You were worried about me?"

She could feel her cheeks turning pink, even though he probably couldn't see it. "Well, Bret called and said you never showed for your gig, and you didn't answer your cell or call him back. What was I supposed to think?"

"You don't have to get defensive over it; it's not a bad thing." He smiled. "I've never really had anyone to worry about me before. It actually feels kinda good."

"What about your mother?"

"Oh, she cares about me, but worry? Not so much." He looked at the clock. "It's pretty late, huh?"

Taking the abrupt change in subject as a hint, she stifled a yawn behind her hand. "Yeah. You should call Bret. He was pretty worried too."

He reached for his cell off the nightstand, and flipping it open, sent off a text message. Moments later, he'd placed it back in its spot.

"Done." More silence, and she could feel him watching her as she yawned again. "You wanna sleep here?"

Neela shot him a wry look. "You'll do anything to get me in your bed, won't you."

"You know me," Ray grinned briefly, then sobered. "Seriously, though, you look beat."

She opened her mouth to speak, but yawned again and sent him a sheepish smile. He shifted position and pulled his feet up onto the bed, laying back against the pillows as he patted the empty space beside him.

"Come on," he coaxed, "you know you wanna. And I promise not to bite unless you ask me to."

Neela chewed her lip and looked longingly at the vacant spot. Under normal circumstances, she'd _never_ entertain the idea of sharing a bed with Ray. But it was nearing five-thirty in the morning, and the evening's events had left her - and him, too, no doubt - physically and emotionally exhausted. All she wanted was to fall into a bed and sleep; she didn't care whose.

"All right," she sighed, filling the empty space he'd left for her, "but only because I'm too tired to actually move."

"Ditto that," he replied, hesitating a beat as she turned over to face him. "Neela?"

"Hmm?"

He looked over at her, expression serious. "Thank you."

She smiled softly. "You're welcome."

Moments later, they were both asleep; ironically the best either of them had had in quite a while.

* * *

The End 


End file.
